


The Method

by dimplelegacy



Series: Flavors of Crimson Bond [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: AU, Blood, But no violence or blood drinking, Fluff, M/M, Vampire Sheith Week, Vampires, drabble of sorts, prompt: glamour/bloodbath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2021-01-01 21:43:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21150113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimplelegacy/pseuds/dimplelegacy
Summary: “It will relax you.”He seems true to his word — Keith can see his shoulders slump against the rim, his jaw slack except for the lazy smile on his lips.“You can come in with your clothes on, too. But the effect is stronger if you enjoy it as you would enjoy a proper bath.”Or just Shiro and Keith in a bloodbath. Written for Vampire Sheith Week.





	The Method

**Author's Note:**

> This is late, terribly late! And I'm not even 60% satisfied with it but like said, it's late already so here it is, shitty and semi-late, instead of okay-ish and very very late. 
> 
> It was fun to plan though. *bows*
> 
> Though, I love to hear your thoughts if you are interested in commenting! And just reading it means a lot too so. Thank you.

“There is a method we could try,” Shiro had said. No matter how many times Keith told him he was feeling fine, it did not ease his sire’s mind — Keith’s uncontainable energy seems to put Shiro on edge, despite that it is apparently normal for newlings. 

The reason behind it most likely is that as new as it is for Keith to be a vampire it’s as new for Shiro to be a sire. It pleases Keith, in a strange way, to know that Shiro is only  _ his  _ but the responsibility he seems to carry for Keith makes Keith, at times, feel like a burden; a child. 

Therefore, it was quite easy for Keith to agree to try this “method” even though he did not have the slightest idea what Shiro was planning.

He certainly did not expect to see Shiro’s porcelain tub filled with blood, almost to the rim. 

It’s an obscure as much as a tantalizing sight. Keith’s throat turns dry and he can already feel his fangs pierce the inside of his lips.

“Where did you find all that blood?” he asks with a hoarse voice.

Shiro glances at him warily but there’s a hint of a smile on his face. “Don’t you trust me?”

Keith exhales. “Of course I do.”

“My acquaintance’s servants died. Twins. Both of them were very big in size. So he offered to… help me.”

“One day I would like to know more about these ‘acquaintances’ of yours.”

“Maybe. You have an eternity of time to find out.”

“I…” Keith inspects the amount of blood. “I don’t think I can drink this all before it… goes sour.”

“Interesting choice of a word. ‘Goes sour’...” Shiro chuckles. “No, actually it is for something else entirely.”

“And what is th-” 

The words died in Keith’s mouth when he sees Shiro undo his trousers. He’s quite sure all the functioning parts of his brain die too when those trousers fall on the floor, left there as a sad buddle with Shiro’s boots. Keith is familiar enough with Shiro and his habits to know that there are no more clothes to hide Shiro’s lean legs, powerful thighs, his—

Keith looks away, pretending that the corner of the room is much more interesting than anything else at the moment. It’s easier for him to forget simple boundaries between two men when he is high on the ecstasy of feeding or completely taken away by his new instincts. 

Shiro, of course, has no trouble to point this out. 

“Last night you fell asleep on top of me and now you choose to be bashful?” There is distinct mirth in Shiro’s tone.

“As you know, it is not exactly a choice,” Keith mutters. He hears shuffling and a soft thump before a splashing sound, and limps thudding against porcelain. 

He doesn’t know what is calling for his attention more; the blood or his naked sire.

Shiro’s quiet sigh almost makes him flinch. 

Tempting. His life has become oddly tempting.

“Keith. Will you join me if I ask kindly?”

“There is no need for you to ask kindly,” Keith answers him and he knows it’s unfair of him to say that. Shiro is too kind to use his command, his bond, on Keith for something so trivial, too rightful to ever use it unless Keith’s health is on the line. 

“That is true,” Shiro’s tone is mockingly flippant. “I can always carry you.”

Keith whips his head and gives his sire a glare but it’s bound to fade as Shiro grins at him in return. 

“It will relax you.”

He seems true to his word — Keith can see his shoulders slump against the rim, his jaw slack except for the lazy smile on his lips. 

“You can come in with your clothes on, too. But the effect is stronger if you enjoy it as you would enjoy a proper bath.”

Keith watches Shiro raise his right hand, dripping with blood and apparently immune to any malfunctions that liquid might cause to artificial limbs. He offers it to Keith.

“I will hold your hand through it, Keith,” he says and Keith can see it from his eyes; he means every word despite masking them under an amusing tone. 

Keith sighs and rolls his eyes as if Shiro is being an impossible child. It only makes Shiro smile wider.

Keith sheds his clothes; baring his body to Shiro feels much more natural than he thought. He tips his foot into the blood, the temperature of it neither cold nor hot but it feels the same as a hot bath after a long day on the field. The sensation creeps up his ankle to his shin and Keith doesn’t dare to move, he only wants to focus on how his muscles seem to almost bend under the blood’s effect.

He is unaware of his closed eyes before he opens them to look at Shiro. His open hand is still presented at Keith so Keith takes it, wrapping his fingers around Shiro’s own. He lets himself bask in the scent of blood, inhaling it deeply.

As he slides down into the bloodbath, he hears Shiro murmur; “Moments like these make you realize that you are constantly holding your breath. You never let yourself enjoy it.”

Keith silently agrees. Even as a newling, he holds his breath, holds himself down and even when he lets go, his instincts consume him and they do not know what rest and relaxation mean. 

Now he can breathe. Exist. 

He presses the back of his head against the rim of the tub, still holding Shiro’s hand. It’s perfect. 

He thought it would be impossible for him to enjoy any of his birthdays, especially this year’s, so soon after his father’s death.

After a long moment of rest and silence, Keith swirls his forefinger in the blood, feeling the thickness of it. It's strange; he doesn't have any impulse to even lick his finger. He is that relaxed, almost feeling like a cloud that could dissolve into the blue of the sky any moment and it would be all right. 

He lays his eyes on Shiro on the opposite side of the tub. 

"I have never seen you this calm," he says. 

Shiro's eyes open slowly and the way he looks at Keith reminds him of a sleepy cat.

"I'm always calm," he says with a lazy smile.

"To me, you're not." 

Shiro lets out a deep sigh and cranes his neck. Keith rolls his tongue inside his mouth. "I suppose you know my weakness now."

Something in Keith demands him to move closer Shiro. It feels like the same pull that constantly nudges him towards Shiro where ever he is, which, according to Shiro, is normal. But this time, at this moment, it feels different. It is not merely based on his instincts, it is something whispering inside of him, more subtle and quieter.

Keith intentionally keeps his movements slow. He presses his upper body against Shiro's own, careful under his calculating gaze. Shiro's shoulder bumps against the center of his chest as he leans in and nuzzles Shiro's cheek. The side of his chin has a splotch of blood and Keith licks it clean with one long swipe of his tongue. 

It doesn’t feel like taking a bite of a snack. In some sense, it resembles grooming — taking care of his sire. No, that’s not quite right either; his friend, his...

"Keith." Shiro's voice is low and the way he whispers Keith's name feels like sand under one’s feet; tickling and pleasant. 

Long, strong fingers stroke Keith's hair, pulling the strands behind his ear before settling on Keith's jaw.

Keith nods, without exactly knowing why. All he can think of is the way Shiro’s fingers feel on his skin, not to comfort or to help him but because he can.

Because, maybe, he simply wants to. 

His heart ties itself into a knot as Shiro takes his hand once again and interlaces their fingers. While Keith has been able to control his fangs and their spontaneous growth, his claws are visible but at the moment so are Shiro’s — their claws seem to have the same length and structure, even the same sharpness despite the differences between their hands. As Keith looks at Shiro, carefully letting his eyes roam across his sire’s handsome features, he thinks how similar it is when it comes to the rest of them — their pointed ears, fangs and slit pupils, same in kind, while their built, their past and motives for their paths, are so different. 

“What are you thinking about?”

Keith cannot help himself — he laughs softly at the question. 

“I am thinking about thanking you. For taking care of me, again.”

Shiro’s cheeks change color, only slightly — he seems flustered. 

They have their differences when it comes to their bashful moments, too. 

“You’re welcome,” he simply replies. He rubs the tip of his nose against Keith’s temple, inhaling almost as deeply as Keith did earlier when stepping into the bath.

The thought, the reality, that Shiro is smelling him instead of the bath of blood — Keith realizes that alone brings him more pleasure than feeding ever could.

  
  



End file.
